


the last word

by thefudge



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Cunnilingus, F/F, Sexual Tension, poor Jon is out of the loop, the Dansa tension has to be explored okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 03:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: Post 8x01. Sansa and Dany spend many hours "debating" in the Lord's Chamber.





	the last word

**Author's Note:**

> idk about yall, but the dansa UST was off the charts for me. so here you go. EAT TRASH AND PROSPER.
> 
> (p.s. sansa asking "what do dragons eat anyway?" ahahahah. now she knows)

It had been another fruitless debate regarding food storage and dragons.

Neither of them had won. Both of them had made their point.

For the time being, the dragons had to stay, but Sansa did not have to like it.

She could even choose to starve them a little. For the good of the realm.

The Mother of Dragons glared daggers at the Lady of Winterfell, but mixed with that enmity was a sliver of admiration, even a little provocation. No one else would have seen it. But they had been playing this game for a fortnight now.

Dany walked around the writing table, pushing aside parchments and letters.

Sansa pretended to stand taller. Rigid, in fact. The northern armor made her look deliciously corseted, Dany thought with an appreciative hum. She liked how inaccessible she made herself to be, how impregnable. She had heard what had happened to her…understood it all too well. That is why, underneath the games and the tactics, she felt a strange emotion, almost like gratefulness, every time she managed to defrock the formidable Sansa Stark.

The redhead waited for her to approach. Her eyes glinted with the sport of it. Usually, one of them would end up pressed against the table, spilling ink.

Tonight, it was Sansa.

 “Is that any way to show your queen respect?” Dany whispered against her ear. Her hands wrapped around her stubborn vassal’s waist. Sansa Stark leaned into her touch, even as she pretended to struggle. Dany was impatient. Winter nights were heavy and ponderous and she needed the distraction. She cupped her hostess’ left breast through the mock-armor and tried to release it from its stays.  

Sansa breathed out. “What will you do, your Grace? Have your dragons burn me alive?”

“I should punish you for that…but you’re already kissed by fire,” Dany muttered, burying her nose in the red hair.

Sansa groaned as Dany kissed the soft hollow behind her ear. Her tongue was warm, warmer than fire. She was too proud to say she wanted that tongue to replace fingers.

Dany had lived with a khalasar long enough to know when to use a little gruffness.

“Do I have to do it for you or will you hitch up your skirt?” she said, making Sansa shudder.

“You’ll have to do it for me, your Grace.”

Oh, she was a little minx.

 

 

“Is the door locked?” she suddenly asked, raising herself on her elbows, red hair spilling everywhere.

Dany ran her hands down her thighs, pulling her closer. She was such a pretty sight, laid out like this on the table, like a platter of sweetmeats.

The queen shrugged. “How should I know?”

Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat. The thought of courting discovery excited her.

A few people already suspected something was afoot between the two women, but no one could guess what exactly.

Jon had voiced his frustrations. Why did Dany have to talk to his sister in private so often? Why couldn’t he be present too? Sometimes he was afraid for Sansa, afraid the Mother of Dragons might lose her patience one day. But sometimes he resented Sansa for having captured the queen’s attention so completely. Even animosity was preferable to indifference. It often felt as if Dany had already tired of him.

Whenever he talked to Arya about it, his sister smiled enigmatically.

“Sansa is the best diplomat the North has ever known. If she doesn’t win over your queen, no one will. And I’m pretty sure she already has.”

“How do you know?”  

Arya smiled her enigmatic smile again. “She’s a sweet-talker, Sansa is.”

Such an answer drove Jon to distraction. He did not want to contemplate – well, he obviously _couldn’t_.

There had been a nasty rumor going round about …certain sounds coming from the Lord’s Chamber.

When Jon had questioned the servants they’d said it sounded like an argument, maybe even laughter…but certainly not _other_ kinds of sounds…

It was absurd, really. The two women barely exchanged words in the Great Hall even though they sat at the same table.

But behind doors…

Jon twisted under the furs. He stared at the empty spot next to his.

He would once more sleep alone tonight, thinking the unthinkable.

 

 

He should have guessed it the moment they arrived in the courtyard and Dany laid eyes on his sister.

“The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed. As are you.”

At the time, it had sounded like a gauche attempt at friendship. But Dany’s smile had ripened into something strange and familiar. Desire. Ownership. _I claim what is mine, as a dragon would._

Sansa had looked unimpressed.

She didn’t look so unimpressed now. She was flushed. Trying her hardest to stand still and keep her dignity.

“Gods, you’re lovely,” Dany purred as she blew hot air on the inside of her thighs. “And you’re trembling for me.”

Sansa hated how little control she had when Dany’s fingers parted her folds, teasing her entrance. A soft touch, feathery, but the claws were there. She could feel them as the queen teased her bud.

“I’m not afraid,” Sansa managed through a painfully clenched jaw.

“I never said you were.” Dany spoke against her cunt, making Sansa want to lie back down and let go entirely. But she had to watch, she _wanted_ to watch the queen. Because the monarch was almost kneeling between her thighs. It was a heady feeling.

“You’re already _so_ wet, whatever shall I do?”

Sansa wanted to curse her. But the Mother of Dragons knew _exactly_ what to do.

Dany ate her cunt as she once ate the horse heart. She sank her teeth in her and gorged and hummed with pleasure, licking the juices thirstily.

Many things about Sansa oddly reminded her of Khal Drogo. She felt the same hunger for the Other, the need to tame and possess the warrior. Sansa was a she-wolf who would not submit to _anyone_ but her. She’d make sure of that.

She heard the Lady of Winterfell keen, even as she pressed a hand to her mouth.

Dany sank her claws into her thighs and lifted them, brought them closer, drank lewdly from the she-wolf’s cup.

Sansa struggled to swallow back words. She barred her own mouth, but still some of it got out. Words like _Please_ … _mfffuck_ … _there, oh gods there…_

Dany paused, mouth coated in her. She lifted her head.

“Seven sheep for Drogon.”

Even on the edge of a cliff, Sansa Stark remained firm. “F-four.”

“That’s barely scraps.”

Sansa breathed harshly. She was on the cusp of her orgasm and Dany was toying with her on purpose, as she always did. “I can – I _will_ bring it down to two.”

Dany brushed her thumb against her nub lazily. “You can be so stubborn, Lady Stark. So very stubborn.”

Sansa groaned softly. “Just…four, please…”

It was the _please_ that ingratiated her.

Dany chuckled darkly and flicked her tongue over her clit. “How about seven? Don’t you want your queen to be happy, _Sansa_?”

Hearing Dany say her name like that made her moan out loud. She was close – so close – almost –

“F-four,” she managed headily.

Dany heaved a playful sigh. She was truly impressed with the girl's endurance. But more than that, she wanted to taste her release and then she wanted to kiss her sweet mouth, so she could taste herself.

And afterwards, she _would_ pry seven sheep out of her. She _was_ the queen.

“Very well…you shall have your way,” Dany purred. A temporary compromise. The lie was almost as delectable as the she-wolf’s cum.

In the throes of ecstasy, Sansa reached down blindly and sank her fingers in the queen’s braids, tugging desperately. Dany would have cut a man’s hand for less, but she groaned at the intrusion. She felt heat in her belly, heat between her thighs. She wanted that hand everywhere. She wanted it badly.

“ _...Daenerys!..._ ” Sansa cried out as she came against her mouth.

Oh yes, Dany loved hearing her full name like that. It reminded her of all the "eryses" before her, all the names of kings and queens who shared her blood, names that were chanted in the streets and worshiped in the septs and loved and feared even in private chambers...

She would make Sansa chant her name, worship and love and fear it.

After all, the queen always had the last word.


End file.
